


this side of death

by nein



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 20:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nein/pseuds/nein
Summary: as soldiers fighting in a war, it is an inevitability they need to account for.or; the five times they met death and the time death met them.





	this side of death

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from a line in Baudelaire poem that has haunted me for a while — _will we not meet again this side of death?_

` - 05 -`

 

The first time is easy. A galra hybrid that is more monster than man. It growled, walked on four limbs, and clawed at him without remorse. Shiro did not hesitate to kill it, like a survivor fighting to live — _ha_. His heart is pounding against his chest but he barely blinks as blood spurts across his shoulders, his face. The crowd roars and Shiro almost laughs when it collapses at his feet — half relief, half madness.

The second time is harder. It is still alien, far from human, but it had a name chanted by the raving audience. It paces around the arena on two feet, beating its chest at fans and yelling the occasional battle cry. When Shiro walks out, it stares into his eyes and Shiro knew, that this one was more than a monster.

The third was a Galra prisoner with a parasite glowing at its neck. Its face had less of the canine-characteristics of the galra, and more the flat planes of a human. It almost looked like someone he knew, but Shiro snatched back that thought before it grew into something dangerous. The crowd shifts and Zarkon watches, and Shiro lets his instincts take over.

He finishes the fight with his galra-tech, fingers burning into his opponent’s neck and when Shiro meets a face filled with open-eyed fear — he’s not sure if he feels better, that the blood is on this hand.

 

 

`- 04 -`

 

The first time is hard — there should’ve never been a first time. Keith had fought Kolivan every mission at every step but yet —

There is only one figure beside him, not two.

It’s —, this —, is something that has crossed his mind before but never faced like this, like a sledgehammer slamming down on his heart. It’s a weight heavier than anything he has carried, heavier than guilt.

Something that he entertained, when he grew up with no one but other children had fathers _and_ mothers. When he enrolled into the Garrison and was assigned dog tags. When the news about Kerberos came in —

His mind is a hurricane, each leaf and lightning spinning a _what-if_ that clutches at his lungs in greedy grief.

_What if they had sent a robot in before them?_

_What if it was possible to hack the system remotely?_

_What if he was faster?_

_What if he tried?_

Keith breathes out. _Regris patting him on the back, Regris helping him up with his tail, Regris asking if he’s okay_ —

Keith breathes in.

Keith breathes out, and cries.

 

 

`- 03 -`

 

They watch Samuel Holt drift towards the wormhole from the bridge of the castle. The light flickers like a whirlpool, flashing blue and white and sometimes the airy darkness of a distant location. If they squint hard enough, perhaps they might’ve caught a glimpse of Earth. Behind it the universe lies twinking in deceptive kindness. Shiro wonders how could anyone have every thought that God’s will was written across the sky in stars. There were constellations upon galaxies of them, writing epics and tragedies and hiding civilisations within themselves.

Keith is quiet beside him, and Shiro realises with a start that it has been quiet for a while. Guilt settles in after, it was never like this. But he supposes that both of them have their own thoughts now, memories to fester.

“The Galra,” Keith blurts, “They’re human too.” Shiro glances over and Keith shakes his head, “No, that’s not what I mean — they’re, not human, but, they’re not just, aliens or monsters. They’re like us.” He looks down at his own hands, wide and open. It sounds like a confession.

Shiro looks at Keith, the furrow in his brows, the line of his shoulder, and sees something crumbling underneath. “Yes,” he replies softly. He’s not sure if there could’ve been any other answer.

“We’ve, killed so many of them. Entire battleships and squadrons. Just with our lions.”

_And with my bare hands._

“And I just, think of that documentary we watched at the Garrison, about the atomic bomb. And how we are,” Keith runs his fingers through his hair, “I am become death — “

“— The destroyer of worlds,” Shiro finishes, “And the savior of many more, Keith.”

“I know, I know. It’s just,” Keith hesitates, “It was easier, before.”

 _It was easier before._ The meaning of the words hovered in the shared silence between them. Shiro wants to reach out and tear it down, throwing as far away as possible because before _Keith_ he never thought of himself as a _killer_.

Keith has his arms around himself and Shiro wants to put his own arms there, circling him and pulling him into himself.

“Do you ever —“ Keith gestures to the wormhole, to the tiny escape pod growing smaller and smaller into the distance, “Think of —.”

“Always,” Shiro answers, “Always.” _I’m so tired._ He thought of Earth on Kerberos, thought of Earth when he was crowned Champion when he was lost on the astral plane. As a paladin, Shiro never let his thoughts wander in that direction, placing iron walls to remind him — _Knowledge or death_ , one day Keith may choose — and he remembers the pain of that path.

But Keith always liked indulging in thoughts that destroyed him.

“I think of it too,” Keith tilts his head, and his eyelashes pull a shadow onto his cheeks, “What life was like, back then. What it could be, if we went back.”

(Keith and him flying together over the grand canyon. Exploring foreign cities hand in hand. Curled up in a sunspot on a Sunday morning — )

“Don’t,” Shiro strains, “Don’t make me want I can’t have.”

Keith looks over, eyes wide and Shiro wants to lean over the space between them and hug him so tightly spacetime can’t find him.

Instead he says, “We are soldiers now,” His tongue is dry and it means nothing he wants Keith to know, “As long as the Galran Empire exists, our job is never over.”

“It will be over.”

“It’s a war Keith,” Shiro hesitates, “Either side can win.”

Keith’s eyes flashes golden and angry, “Promise me, we will go home together.”

 

 

`- 02 -`

 

Promises made in war are seldom kept.

 

Shiro dies like a hero. On the ground, defending a village of innocents with his bayard still in his hand and the remains of a robo-beast in front of him. _Paladin, Warrior, Champion_. When Keith crashes down, the first thought is: _it’s too late._

 

“I’ve, always wanted to go back to Japan,” Shiro smiles around a mouthful of blood, “I grew up there, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Keith scrabbles for his hand, slips because of the blood _god there’s so much blood_ , “We can go together, we’ll go back together.” He reaches out, wipes at the spillage with his palm except it smears across Shiro’s jaw like a disease, bright red against pale skin and Keith’s heart sinks into his stomach.

“You’ve never been right?” Shiro turns to look at him, but the movement is jerky, like his muscles are failing him and his bones are broken, “I’ve always wanted to take you.”

 _Stop thinking about me,_ Keith wants to scream, _even now, even now._ “No I haven’t,” he chokes out, “I would love to.”

“There’s, so many things I want to show you,” Shiro coughs, “So many things I think you’ll like.”

“You’ll get to show me,” Keith rambles, throwing off his jacket to absorb the blood, to push down on the wound, “We’ll go back together”

“There’s the cutest statue at Shibuya Station, and a place to go fishing on the Kanda River, and the ice cream selection at the _conbini_ , god, Keith. you’ll love it —”

“I will I will,” something is rising up his throat, like bile, like a bubbling horror that he needs to keep down. “You’ll have to buy it for me.”

“There’s, actually so many things I miss about Earth, things I never thought I’ll miss —,” Shiro relaxes, and his eyes unfocuses, facing a point beyond Keith’s head. Keith clutches his hand like a drowning man, clinging to the spare warmth in his fingertips like he’s a boy trying to ground an airship with a string.

“— 24 hour days, driving for hours in the desert,” he laughs, “Mcdonalds. You don’t see that in space.”

“Yes, yes yes.”

“I miss doing my laundry, running into people on the street, getting caught in the rain —” Shiro coughs again, jagged like glass, “I’ve wanted to see Earth for so long.”

“You will get to see Earth again,” Keith chokes, “Don’t talk like that. We’ll make it out of this. I swear to god I will not let you leave me, not now, not ever.”

Shiro rasps and for a few quiet moments his breathing rattles painfully light. In the distance, there is the buzzing of railguns and laser cannons. Occasionally, a lion roars.

“Keith,” Shiro starts and Keith jerks. Their eyes meet and there is so much in his eyes, so many words etched on the landscape on his face. “It’s getting cold.”

Keith takes a shuddering breath. All of a sudden, Shiro is small. _One more minute_ , he wishes, _one more minute. Give me one more minute. Where are they._ He throws his eyes to the sky. Every paladin is occupied, stalked by a dozen Galra jets. The castle is far away.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, broken and fragile, “I don’t want to go.”

Keith looks down. _Stay with me,_ he wants to order, but the blood is seeping onto his hands like abandoned prayers and the look in Shiro’s eyes is haunted, and so, so, weak. A man like Shiro never deserves to look like this. Keith chokes down his wishes and dreams and futures and lets go of the jacket, grasping Shiro with both hands.

“It’s fine, you’ll be fine,” Keith says, voice quivering, “It’s okay Shiro, it’ll be okay.”

Shiro breathes with his entire chest but it doesn’t feel like enough, nothing is enough.

“Lay with me, Keith,” Shiro shakingly opens one arm, “Come here.”

Keith scrambles, tucking himself into the crook of Shiro’s shoulder, careful and delicate.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” He smooths down Shiro’s hair and Shiro leans into his touch and his face is cold, so cold.

His breaths are coming lighter, more shallow, less pained, “You will be okay?”

“Of course,” _not_. Keith chokes out a laugh, “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro turns his head, and now they are nose to nose and so close, “I never —“ he breaks off into coughs, “Keith —.”

_One more minute, one more minute._

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, “I’m sorry, for leaving you alone.”

“It’s okay to let go,” Keith chokes out, “Don’t fight it. You’ve fought enough.”

Shiro smiles. His fingers trace Keith’s cheeks and he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. Keith closes his eyes, just to feel the breath in his lungs, the breath on his lips, and for a second it lingers, brushes past, and stops.

“Shiro,” Keith chants, fingers grappling at Shiro’s face. “Shiro, Shiro Shiro.” He surges forwards, and for the first time in his life, kisses Shirogane Takeshi. The lips are still against his, and it tastes like ashes and regret and a faraway planet. He felt like impossible futures and cruel presents and disappearing histories. Keith opens his eyes. Shiro’s are closed. The arm against his cheek is cold.

 

 

 

 

`- 01 -`

 

 

 

Keith always thought he’ll go down in flames, a blaze of glory, quick as lightning.

But when death comes for him, it is slow, and dark and quiet. He is alone. A fleet is destroyed behind him, but his engines are burnt out and there is a hole in his cockpit. It hisses like an approaching snake and Keith feels the shiver on his spine. At least two of his ribs are broken and his entire left side is numb. He feels the encroaching chill and his heart hitches, panics, beats against his broken chest in protest.

He doesn’t want to go, everyone is still out there. The team, and Kolivan, everyone in the Blade — and his mum.

Perhaps they would not mind if he left. Perhaps, he’s done enough. Maybe they will forgive him, if he lies down and accepts the nagging drowsiness.

On the other side there’s Regris, and Antok, and dad, and there’s, there’s _Shiro_.

_It’s okay to let go._

 

Keith closes his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

`- 00 -`

 

 

 

  

Keith lurches forward, coughing up sand and saltwater, reeling. A broken fighter jet, a looming battleship, the cold hiss of escaping oxygen. The beach beneath his hands are cool, and when he looks up, he sees a windless, cloudless shore stretching into the distance. He thinks he knows where he is.

“Hey.”

Keith spins around. It’s Shiro. It’s Shiro, arm outstretched with sunlight in his hair, smiling gently down at him.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, and he’s leaping upwards, cheek to chest like they’ve done so many times before. Then they’re falling down again, into the sand and Keith indulges himself in the warmth, the hand on his back and the chuckle by his forehead and he’s looking up, up at the face he has missed so much.

“It’s you,” Keith beams, palm reaching out to cup his jaw. He bumps Shiro’s nose with his own, “You’ve waited for me.”

“Of course,” Shiro answers, “You didn’t take your time.”

Keith breathes in the realisation, a sigh stretching from the inside of his lungs, filling up the empty space, searching his mind for whatever he is feeling —

Sadness, frustration, _relief_.

“Shiro,” Keith sits up, “Did I… die? Are we dead?”

Shiro looks into his eyes, filled with noise and sadness. “Yes.”

“It is easier than I expected,” Keith laughs, soft in wonder, “You were right, all I had to do is let go.”

Something tugs at his chest and he gets up, looks past Shiro and in the distance, he sees a city. It looks like sky-scrapered Tokyo, concrete and neon. It looks like his shack in the desert, windblown and his own. It feels like his father, like a sense of home and homecoming and belonging all in one. He feels the gentle draw inwards, towards that light and he knows that is where he is meant to be.

He reaches his hand out behind him and he hears Shiro get up, “Let's go.”

A pause, a silence, Keith’s hand remains empty and he turns around in question. Shiro has not moved.

“I can’t.” Shiro answers, voice strained. Slowly, he reaches for his collar, pulling it down and, underneath is darkness. There’s is a hole where his heart should be and there are angry tendrils crawling across his chest. Parts of his shoulder are fragmented into porcelain thin cracks and Keith thinks of shattered glass and broken dreams. A crack slithers up to his neck and Shiro closes his shirt again. “There are parts of me out there.”

Keith swallows, “With the Galra?”

Shiro nods.

Keith breathes out. The city is in front of him. Here, Shiro is beside him. Behind him, is the horizon and he knows that in the distance there is a frozen sunset beyond which lies a battle. A war yet to be won, a universe to be freed. A death to be relieved.

A voice in his ear, his head against a cold chest, a wormhole to Earth.

“Then I will return.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've always wanted to write something like this because Voltron is about a war and so much of it is heavy and unspoken and heartbreaking. I wanted to bring in the hopeless and tragedy of Evangelion or Shingeki no Kyojin since Sheith is one of those pairings I want to conquer death.
> 
> I'm thinking of posting an extended fic commentary in the next two days? I want to acknowledge all the influences that went into writing this :D
> 
> > the four songs I looped on repeat while writing: [playlist on yt](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpWqMqBUA-cWKvk8hMjo-GWJRgqOd_h4R)


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